My little poem.

There are benefits to rising
just before dawn
when the sky is that silvery black,
neither night nor yet day.
Today, when I took the dogs out
so early,
an owl and a hawk in battle flew through my yard and over the trees,
black silhouettes,
the small hawk darting, crying clipped alarm,
the bigger owl silent and deadly.
The owl, triumphant, raced back, attacked something on my neighbor’s roof,
wings beating the shingles, squeaking cries of prey, quickly silenced.
The victor carried the dead to a tree near my kitchen window
and ate. Watching me through the glass, observing my dogs,
plotting how to get them, I’m sure.
My lot and the lots nearby are prime nesting territory, and the raptors are vicious and sublime.